


Flowers come with spring

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Series: For your floral heart [2]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aftermath of Injury, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Resolved Romantic Tension, So Much Softness, Tenderness, Unresolved Sexual Tension, disabled viren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: Harrow had found Viren passed out many strange places over the years, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted; slump in the halls, sitting in the library, in the kitchen, tucked into a corner of the throne room. Sometimes Viren made it almost all the way to his own rooms before he sat down for a short rest, and exhaustion swept him away.   Slumbering under the tree in the garden, in the cool sunlight was a new one, though.





	Flowers come with spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sillyengineer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sillyengineer).



> For sillyengineer, on tumblr :'V  
> This is set before they went and killed Thunder, but only about a year or two. I also like to imagine they've spent years (or decades) building up all this tension.

* * *

* * *

The wind still carried a chill to it that cut straight through his heavy robes, seeming to settle right into his very bones as Viren slowly cut through the palace gardens, heading back to his rooms and his own bed after far too long at study. It wasn’t yet dawn; the faint glow painting the eastern horizon held the promise of a clear day. But for now it was cold, winter lingering in the night the way the stars lingered in the still dark sky.

He hadn’t meant to work so late, but his work had a habit of pulling him in until he lost track of how long he’d been tucked away in the library or his work room, bent over a tomb or his own notes until the wee starless hours of dawn.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t as young as he had once been, and his body didn’t take the neglect as well as it once had. His old injuries- but especially the long scar twisting down the side of his knee, long silvered with age but never quite healed to what it was, _ached._  Every step put strain along the poorly healed muscles, and they cramped just a little more. By the time he reached the middle of the garden, he was leaning too hard on his staff, knuckles white despite the cold.

Viren stopped, sighing, and limped to the stone bench set beneath the large ornamental cherry tree. Its branches weren’t bare like the surrounding trees, but covered in small pink buds, hinting at the vibrancy of spring that was just around the corner.

He propped his cane against the bench, lowering himself with a groan. The bench was cold, but not any more so then the wind, and Viren settled back, leaning against the trunk of the tree to watch the sun creep slowly up over the horizon.

 

That was where Harrow found him, hands tucked under his arms with one leg stretched out in front of him, asleep in the early morning sunlight. The carbuncle on his robes caught the light, throwing colourful purple light along the underside of his jaw, shifting with every slow breath the mage took.

Harrow almost loathed to disturb him. In all the years he’d known him, Viren had always been neglectful of his own health, needing chasing for meals and pestering when healing. He never stopped to consider the impact it had on his health, containing an intensity and focus that he directed almost singularly at his studies, always looking for some illusive to give Katolis the edge in their never-ending war.

Every once and awhile, Viren hit a sort of obsessive spiral where he seemed to completely forget he was human and not some sort of spirit able to subsist entirely on magic. He’d disappear for days at a time, locked away in his magic room, or tucked into a dusty corner of the library utterly ignorant to the passage of time and the demands of his own body.  And inevitably he’d crash. Harrow had found him passed out  many strange places over the years, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted; slump in the halls, sitting in the library, in the kitchen, tucked into a corner of the throne room. Sometimes Viren made it almost all the way to his own rooms before he sat down for a short rest, and exhaustion swept him away.

Harrow shook his head in weary amusement, picking up Viren’s staff with care not to let it clatter on the stone, and sat down beside him. The sunlight was warm but still thin, winter’s fingers stroking through their hair with each gentle breeze. It was actually cool,  and he could feel the mage shiver each time the wind blew across them, whispering through the budding branches and ruffling Viren’s greying hair.

Sighing, Harrow nudged him with his elbow.

“Viren,” he said softly. “It’s time to wake up.”

A soft hiss of breath, perhaps a muttered cuss, was his only answer. The mage curled his arms tighter around his chest, tucking his chin down more firmly and stubbornly remained asleep.

Harrow chuckled. If it weren’t for the coolness of the day, he might leave him to his rest.

“Viren. Viren, you can’t sleep here.” A little louder this time.

Another mutter.  He could feel him waking up, despite how firmly he clearly wished to stay asleep.

So Harrow blew obnoxiously in his ear, just like he’d done when they were children, and Viren had fallen asleep slumped over his books. It was worth the sharp elbow that his friend reflexively dug into his ribs. He backed off with a chuckle.

Viren’s eyes cracked open, blurry and unfocused.  

“Childish,” muttered Viren.

“Like sleeping in public. Napping like a tired child in the yard.” Teased Harrow in return.  He jostled Viren with his shoulder, smiling at the way the mage groused wordlessly at him. It made it feel like all the time hadn’t passed, took him back to the days of their youth. Just for a few moments, but the feeling was still refreshing.

The sun caught the silver in Viren’s hair as he sat forward, moving stiffly; Harrow’s broad smile softened, fondness washing over him. _We’ve gotten old._ He remembered how lush the brown of Viren’s hair had once been, as rich as the fine chocolate that came with visiting dignitaries from the warmer climates.  It still shone in the sunlight, full and thick, but the threads of silver caught the sunlight far brighter then the brown. 

He brushed the backs of his fingers against those silvering strands before he could think better. They slid easily through his fingers, just as smooth as he’d thought it would be and cool from the wind. Then Harrow came back to himself, and tried to cover the gesture, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Going silver.”

Viren was giving him a questioning look, but he seemed to shake off his surprise and he gently knocked away Harrow’s hand.

“Not everyone was born as blessed as you, _majesty,_ ” teased Viren good naturedly.

He was more awake now, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his good knee, bad leg still stretched out in front of him. Sitting eliminated the meagre differences in their height, putting Viren on eye level; Harrow could clearly see the smudges of darkness under his grey eyes, standing out against his fair skin like bruises. The fingers of the hand that Viren used to rub at his eyes were almost as black as the skin under his eyes; startled, Harrow caught Viren’s wrist, turning his hand over to look closer at his palm.

“Harrow, what are you doing?” asked Viren, and although Harrow had startled him, he made no attempt to pull his hand away, simply leaning his chin on his free hand and watching the King stare at his ink stained finger tips with an incredulous expression.

“How to you even manage this?” muttered Harrow, rubbing at the long-dried ink. It covered Viren’s finger tips to his second knuckle, almost like he’d dipped his fingers in the ink well. Well, not really – most of it was on the palms of his hand, and a glance showed that it wasn’t just his right hand; it coated the hand he had his head resting on, worse then the one Harrow was holding captive.  Harrow picked at the splotches on his sleeve, _tsk_ ing at him.

“I tried a new ink, one meant to last without fading.”

Harrow arched a brow, wiggling one of Viren’s fingers between his own.

“Funny how that isn’t an explanation.”

Viren chuckled, offering a wry little smile and a shrug. Harrow’s hand was firm and warm, comfortable in the chill; Harrow himself was a solid line of warmth from ankle to shoulder, radiating heat like a comfortably banked fire, and Viren was in no real hurry to move. His tired muscles wanted nothing more then to shuffle over and lean into him.

Uncharacteristically, Harrow was in no rush to let go of the mage. He held Viren’s hand between his own, sheltering the mage’s cold fingers between his own, and rubbed them briskly to warm them.

“you’re being unusually fussy, Harrow,” said Viren, but Harrow noted how he didn’t offer any protest at the treatment. In fact, the mage seemed to be a little closer, shuffling so their sides pressed closer.

“You don’t normally sleep outside in the cold, do you? How’s your leg?”

The mage hummed thoughtfully.

“It’s sore but I can walk. You are right, of course, I will take more care next time.”

Harrow picked up Viren’s staff from where it lay forgotten beside him, and passed it to the mage. He relinquished his hand as well, and stood, waiting for Viren to get himself sorted.

He felt the lack of the mage’s heat immediately, a cold streak up his side that the crisp air sunk its teeth into. Covering his shiver, Harrow offered Viren a hand up, but was waved off.

“It’s alright. I can manage.” He smiled up at Harrow, but as he rose to his feet his hand was clenched on his staff, and his jaw tightened with pain; Harrow watched with narrowed eyes. He doubted Viren realized that he gave himself away so easily. He was far too buttoned and composed to intentionally show anything so telling as to just how much pain he was in _willingly_ in front of his King.

 All the same, Harrow was ready when Viren’s bad knee buckled, and sent the mage staggering with a pained curse. He snagged him by his arm as he started to topple over, and hauled him back up with a grunt, stumbling back a step as Viren fell heavily into him.

Harrow wrapped an arm around him, sighing, bemused, as Viren cursed out his injury, waiting for his frustration to run its course. He kept a good grip on the mage in case his pride made him do something foolish, holding him so he could lean against his shoulder.   Viren stood with his bad knee bent, weight off it, leaning heavily against Harrow with both hands clutching the thick red quilting of his doublet. His staff lay at their feet.  

Viren’s curses faded to harsh breathes.

“…Apologies,” he said, voice rough. The heat of his breath washed over the side of Harrow’s throat.

Harrow bit back a smile, shaking his head. He felt his chin brush across Viren’s hair.

“Don’t trouble yourself, my old friend. Let’s get you to your rooms.”

Harrow gripped Viren’s belt, and shrugged the mage’s arm over his shoulder. For once, Viren’s slight advantage worked in his favour, and he was able to lean heavily on Harrow. Harrow moved his arm to around Viren’s waist, squeezing the mage tight to his side, and offered him a smile when Viren glance over.

Viren was too pale, dark circles standing out a little too vividly, and a fine mist of pain sweat had gathered at his brow, but he smiled faintly in return.

“I’ll get one of the kids to grab your staff. I think it’s time you went to sleep.”

“I would argue, but I feel like I’d loose.”

“Ah, good. At least you’ve retained some of your good sense. I was scared it had all been left in whatever dank corner you’ve been working in.”

Harrow turned them, and began the slow walk to Viren’s rooms, the warm weight of the mage a solid comfort in his grip.

 

It was a slow trip, and his shoulder ached by the time they made it up the stairs, but Harrow’s soft jokes had brought back Viren’s smile by the time they reached the door of his rooms. The castle its self was just starting to wake up, the bustle of every day life picking up around them. Viren’s quarters were in the western side of the castle, away from the sunlight that the mage seemed to spend his days avoiding.

Harrow pushed the door open, and they staggered sideways through it, shutting the door awkwardly behind them and headed for the Viren’s bed in the corner of the large room. Viren slid off his shoulder, and staggered the last few feet, dropping himself onto the foot of the bed with a pained grimace as Harrow went to find the charmed jug of hot water he knew would be around.

It was on the desk- set in front of a window, which had its curtains pulled tight against the light.  The jug  sat in a shallow white enamel basin, with a linen towel.  Harrow carried it all back over to Viren, who  was yanking at the laces on his boots, pulling off one easily, but struggling to bend his injured knee enough to pull the second off.

Before he could grow too frustrated, Harrow returned to his side, kneeling and setting his burden aside.

“Stop that, let me,” He swatted his hands away, lifting Viren’s calf and sliding his boot off.  Viren looked down at him with in silent frustration, but Harrow understood what he was feeling. He patted the mage on his good knee.

“You will feel better tomorrow. You know this, Viren.” He reassured.

Picking up the basin, Harrow stood, and sat down beside Viren on the bed, resting the basin between his knees.

“Now, give me your hands. Let’s see if we can’t get some of that utter disaster off your hands.”

“I’m not one of your children, Harrow, I don’t need you to look after me.” Viren said softly, but offered Harrow his hands despite his words.  He let Harrow turn them over, run his thicker fingers over the stains.

Harrow hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right, of course. My boys know better then to try and finger paint with ink.” He released Viren’s hands, and tried to push his sleeves up. The heavy robe didn’t move more then a few inches, long sleeve bunching up at Viren’s wrist.

 Viren tugged his hands free, and started on the buckles of his double belt.

“If his majesty pleases, he should remove his doublet or look like he himself went finger painting.” He said dryly. He tossed his belt behind him on the bed, and as he raised his hands to start on his robes Harrow realized the problem. He snatched Viren’s hands quickly, turning them to hold their ink stained fingers in front of the mages face.

Viren frowned at his hands, curling his fingers. “Well then,” he said, voice faint.

“Just.. let me.” Harrow offered, trying to ignore the way colour bloomed in Viren’s face at his words. It wasn’t like the man wasn’t wearing at least one other layer under his robes, it was perfectly respectable.  But he found himself heating in response, as he thumbed hidden buttons through buttonholes, ears burning. Unlike Viren, who was doing a good job of pretending he wasn’t crimson in the face, Harrow had the gift of a complexion that hid it at least in part.

And since Viren was looking carefully at the wall, he wasn’t likely to notice.

He unclasped the beautiful gold pin at Viren’s throat last, setting it carefully aside, and moved the basin to the bedding, nestling it carefully into the blanket so it wouldn’t tip over. Viren transferred his flushed gaze to the white crockery, lifting his arms at Harrow’s prompting, and let his King tug his robes off.

Like Harrow had thought, Viren had another layer underneath; he had an undyed linen shirt, simply laces tying the neck, but otherwise large enough to be pulled over the head with ease. The sleeves were long, probably the creamy edge that he’d always assumed were part of Viren’s robes. Before he could do anything, Viren shoved his sleeves up, leaving faint grey marks on the fabric. He looked so much smaller, sitting in his under shirt, dark fabric of his pants not quite covering his bare feet. Being so tired seemed to make Viren much more vulnerable to his own emotions, because he pointedly refused to  look at him, fair skin flushed with embarrassment.

Harrow floundered at what to say, so instead unbuttoned his doublet, folding it and setting it aside. Unlike Viren, his shirt was more substantial, thick cotton clasped at his throat, but with only elbow length sleeves. He flicked the linen towel over his knee, and filled the basin. Steam rose of the water, the heating charm having kept it hot an impressively long time.

The jug went on the floor by their feet. The basin went back on Harrow’s lap.

He held a hand out to Viren, and the mage huffed a sigh, but held his ink stained hands out.

“I could do this, you know,” he said, following Harrow’s hands with his eyes as the King pressed his darkened fingertips into the water, smoothing his larger fingers across them in firm sweeping motions.

Viren shivered. Ink began to tint the water.

“But you won’t.” said Harrow simply. He remained focused on his task, unaware of how his touch seemed to fluster Viren, as his swept his strong fingers along the fine lines of the man’s slender hands. Viren looked away, biting his tongue hard, and let Harrow do as he would.

The water slowly darkened, until the stain on Viren’s hands was more an ashy smudge then a black splash. Harrow lifted their hands from the water, rubbing his thumbs along the backs of Viren’s once-more pale hands.

“There.” _Perfect_.

Harrow looked at the thinner hands held within his own. Longer fingers, but finer boned. Not really fragile, but laying against his wider palms they looked so delicate. On impulse, he lifted one, and pressed a kiss to those delicate fingers.

Warm skin. Wet, water still dripping from them now on his lips. Harrow looked up through his lashes at Viren’s soft breath, and did it again, holding his grey eyes this time. He wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he was doing, only that he’d wished to do this for _so damn long_.

He could see Viren’s lips part, how his fair skin coloured so suddenly it looked like it had to sting. He took another deep breath, as if afraid to speak, and they both stared as each other in the ringing silence.

They had spent years avoiding this. Harrow found, as he closed his hand around Viren’s, that he didn’t want to. Water dripped from their joined fingers, and he swept his thumb across Viren’s skin. Harrow lifted his free hand from the water, laying it softly on Viren’s cheek.

“…Is this okay?” he asked softly. Water ran down his arm, dripping onto the blankets.

Viren nodded shallowly, hesitantly reaching out to touch Harrow’s face in return.

“Harrow,” he started, but struggled with what he wanted to say. There was just so _much_ to say, so many years behind them, and so many things to consider. But no words seemed to bubble forth.

Harrow cracked a smile, leaning in, and pressed their lips together in a soft, chaste kiss.  Viren relaxed after a moment, and curled his hand into Harrow’s hair to encourage him to come closer.  It had been so long, and they were a both distracted, Harrow curling his hand to cup back of Viren’s skull, tip his head back to deepen the kiss. Less chaste, more wet, open mouthed, and they were moving towards each other-

And Harrow knocked the basin of water over, dumping cooling water all over both their laps.

They sprung apart like splashed acts, startled and a little out of sorts.

Viren looked down at the grey water soaking into both their shirts, staining the light material, and started to chuckle. He held out a hand, grabbing at Harrow as the laughter bubbled up, and they came back together, sitting ankle to shoulder, warm line all the way up, hands tangled together and heads bent to touch in laughter.

Harrow pressed his forehead to Viren’s.

“So much for not staining our clothes.” He smiled at Viren, who plucked at his wet shirt.

“We need to change now.” Said Viren, eyes still crinkled and warm with laughter. It didn’t wipe away the exhaustion, but the smile looked much less strained then any Harrow had seen from him in the last few days.

“You need to go to bed. _I_ need to change.” His eyes softened, and he lifted one of Viren’s ink stained hands to his lips.

Viren watched him in that quiet way of his, studying him.

“You could always stay. At least for a while,” he added quickly, flushing. But he held Harrow's gaze firmly.

Harrow smiled slowly.

“Alright, until you fall asleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> I spent two years recovering from a knee injury, so I figure if Viren is still limping he probably has some major scarring as apposed to soft tissue damage. But that's just my theory!  
> Thanks for reading!


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